


not jealous

by psych0midget (cominupforair)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (is it clear enough that they're idiots?), Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Eventual Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Neil, Requited Unrequited Love, but also Oblivious Andrew, like seriously they're idiots, like they're both two jealous idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27264529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cominupforair/pseuds/psych0midget
Summary: Andrew is okay. Everything is perfectly okay. College is okay. He hasn’t tried to stab anyone in almost two months. Exy practices are boring.And he absolutely doesn’t have a crush on his roommate Neil Josten.It is all perfectly okay.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 30
Kudos: 447





	not jealous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alex_wh0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_wh0/gifts).



> I've already said it a thousand times, but again HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAYA <3 <3 <3 (can you believe I wrote a relatively angst-free fic for you?) 
> 
> [This fic was supposed to be a twitter thread but then it got too long and now it’s- it’s something in between *shrug emoji*]

Andrew is okay. Everything is perfectly okay. College is okay. He hasn’t tried to stab anyone in almost two months. Exy practices are boring. And he absolutely doesn’t have a crush on his roommate Neil Josten.

It is all perfectly okay.

Andrew never stares at Neil while he sips coffee in the morning, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, still sleep-slow and soft around the edges.

He never thinks about carding his hands through Neil’s messy locks. Never wonders what that would feel like. 

His breath doesn’t catch when Neil takes off his helmet and smiles at him after a game. Cheeks flushed and sweat running down his forehead.

He doesn’t dream about running his hands up Neil’s lean muscled tights and cupping that killer ass. No. 

And the last time he’s drawn a knife definitely wasn’t that time Melissa or Jane or whatshername was hitting on Neil. (In his defense Neil was very uncomfortable, probably even the astronauts from the International Space Station could see that.)

And most importantly, Andrew doesn’t care if Aaron and Katelyn try to set Neil up with one of the Vixens.

He doesn't care that Neil is in his room getting ready to hang out with whoever-Aaron-has-chosen-to-be-Neil’s-new-girlfriend. It probably wouldn’t even bother him if Neil wasn’t a fashion disaster and didn’t need his help to find an outfit that doesn’t make him look like a vagrant when he hangs out for the first time with a  _ girl _ .

Maybe he should call Bee and tell her that his self-harming tendencies haven’t let up because he’s pretty sure that, if he was in his right mind, he wouldn’t be helping Neil picking a shirt that will make him look impossibly hotter.

Andrew doesn’t fucking care if his roommate looks positively edible. With the clothes Andrew chose for him. For a date. With a _girl_.

He should probably just call Roland and stop thinking about it.

—

Neil is okay. The Foxes are doing great, they might even have a chance of winning the championship this year. Kevin is still insufferable, but night practices are improving their game so much he can’t complain about Kevin’s attitude. Andrew still offers him a cigarette every time they meet on the rooftop after classes.

Everything is okay.

It’s just that he can’t stand Andrew’s boyfriend.

Roland snores. Roland regularly drinks Neil’s smoothies when Neil leaves them unsupervised in the fridge. Roland is too cheerful. He’s brash and loud and noisy and he  _smiles_ in a way that makes Neil want to break his nose with a well-aimed punch. Roland ogles Andrew’s arms like they are a full course meal and he’s a man starving in the desert. Roland ogles Andrew’s broad shoulders. Roland ogles almost anything that can be ogled about Andrew. Neil doesn’t like it when Roland as much as  _watches_ Andrew, let alone when he ogles him. 

Neil doesn’t like it. Neil doesn’t like  _him_ . 

He doesn’t like it when Andrew walks out of his room with hickeys on his neck because it’s Roland who put them there. And a person such as Roland should not be allowed to mark Andrew’s skin. He’s not worthy of Andrew’s - of Andrew’s anything. Andrew is strong, brave, caring and loyal. Roland is - Roland. 

Neil doesn’t like Roland. Never did, never will. 

But it doesn’t mean he thought Roland was a cheater.

And yet Neil is at Eden’s and Roland is perched over the bar counter, shamelessly making out with one of his customers. Right in front of everyone, right where Andrew could see him.

On the one hand, Neil wants Andrew to see Roland cheating on him and scream “SEE? I WAS RIGHT ABOUT HIM!” to his face. He might even get a t-shirt with that written over his chest. That would be the most satisfying “I told you so ” of his life, even better than defeating the Ravens at exy. 

On the other hand, Neil is glad Andrew is nowhere to be seen. He’s probably outside smoking, there’s no chance he’ll see what his boyfriend is doing behind his back. If Roland as much as harms a hair on Andrew’s head, Neil won’t be responsible for his actions. He’s killed before, the FBI won’t stop him from doing it again when Andrew’s well-being is involved.

Neil wants nothing more than knocking Roland’s head off his neck and making his obnoxious grin disappear. Possibly forever. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because underneath all the anger and the betrayal Neil is shocked to find out that he is relieved. He is just so fucking unexplicably relieved. 

He is still trying to understand what’s going on with his brain (he even checks his soda to make sure no one has spiked it), when Matt slumps next to him on the club’s sofa. He sees Roland cheating on Andrew and he asks Neil if he needs help breaking Roland’s jaw.

That’s why Matt is his best friend.

Neil shakes his head. Matt protests, saying that Neil has always hated Roland and he was right because Roland’s a dick and Matt would gladly help him dispose of the body if Neil chose to get rid of him for good. Neil just keeps shaking his head, in a trance. He’s suddenly thinking about the way his hands touch Andrew’s when they share a cup of coffee in the morning. And the stupid smile on his face when it happens. About the somersaults his stomach does literally every time Andrew’s gaze lingers on him. About all the things he does and the things he says to make Andrew smirk. That little rare smirk Andrew shows him only when they’re alone and his defenses are down. The hundreds, thousands, millions of times his heart has skipped a beat when Andrew was around.

“Matt, I think we have a problem,” Neil finally says, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Matt hums, taking his eyes off Roland and immediately looking at him with a concerned frown. 

Neil takes a deep breath and then elaborates,“I think I like Andrew.”

Matt, startled, laughs. “We all know you like Andrew, Neil, he’s your roommate.”

“No, not in that way, Matt.”

And that, well that leaves Matt speechless.

—

  


Before moving to Palmetto, Neil would’ve dealt with a heartbreak (could this be called a heartbreak, though? the person he had feelings for had been in a relationship for months, he was the one who had needed months to sort out the mess in his head) like normal people do. Or like Allison’s rom-coms have led him to think normal people do. He would’ve gone home, cried and eaten ice cream while he watched the tv. But Neil had moved to Palmetto. And he had met Kevin. And Nicky. And Andrew.  _Fuck Andrew._ So Neil deals with his heartbreak like his friends taught him: with copious amounts of alcohol. 

Besides, he doesn’t even like ice cream. 

  


—

  


Andrew is smoking outside of the club when Roland catches up to him. Usually that’s their clue. Andrew waits until Roland is on a break, then he drags him to the storeroom and they mess around. 

Not this time, though. 

Because Roland has a swollen lip. Or, well, that wouldn’t necessarily prevent them from messing around, but Roland tells him to go back inside because Neil is wasted, alone on the dance floor, and really really wasted. And that it’s Neil who’s punched him in the face. His brain short circuits for a moment there. Neil. Punched. Roland.

Andrew curses, makes sure Roland is truly okay and curses again. If the bouncers forbid him from ever setting foot inside of Eden’s because of that idiot, Andrew is going to strangle Neil with his own two bare hands. 

He runs back inside Eden’s only to find out that his table has been vacated and Neil’s usual corner is covered with half a dozen empty glasses. If not more. Neil who usually only gets a soda and only if he’s feeling particularly feisty. Andrew’s only consolation is that Neil is a lightweight, it won’t take him long to locate him in the club.

And it doesn’t. It really doesn’t because the entire club is looking at him and gravitating towards him. 

The problem is, Andrew had expected Neil to be making a fool of himself.

But Neil is dancing. And he is drunk and he is hot, and he’s in the middle of a thick forest of bodies and people are drawn to him like moths to a flame. And Neil is grinding against strangers in a club. His narrow hips circling up and down to the low beat of the music. His eyes are closed as he moves under the lights. It’s hypnotising, Andrew wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off Neil even if he wanted to. But there are hands trying to touch him, get a grip on him, drag him away. And Neil isn’t bothered, not a single bit, he smirks, carefree, and keeps dancing and moving and - 

Ugly jealousy suddenly swirls in the pit of Andrew’s stomach. It’s a dark spiny tangle around his lungs and he can’t take a single fucking breath without feeling it prickle. No matter how many times he tells himself he has no right to be jealous over Neil because Neil doesn’t like him that way. Andrew just can’t help being irrationally jealous and angry. He sees red. Red red red red. There are too many hands touching what’s  _his_ .

He doesn’t register how he goes from his table to the dancefloor, he’s out of his stool before he even knows what he’s doing. He just gets to Neil, grabs him by the sleeve of his shirt and drags him out of the club, through the sea of bodies that crowd the dance floor. He probably also growls like a possessive prat at everyone that stands in his way, but thankfully Neil is drunk and Andrew hopes he won’t remember any of this. Andrew just needs fresh air. He needs fresh air and he needs to get his shit together.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Neil shouts as soon as they’re out of the club.

Drunk  _and_ loud. Andrew is not even sure why he expected something different from Neil.

“You’re drunk,” Andrew replies, matter-of-factly, slipping back into his usual vacant facade with some struggle. 

“And so what? Are you the only one who can have fun? Was it Roland that told you where I was?” 

Andrew just nods. 

“Who the hell does he think he is? Always sticking his nose in other people’s business! I was just having fun, he has plenty of fun with you. Why can’t I have some fun too?”

Neil is drunk  _and_ loud  _and_ belligerent. And his cheeks are flushed red and his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead. Regardless, Andrew wants to card his fingers through Neil’s sweaty mop and yank his face down to kiss him. Sweat and alcohol and dirt and all. 

Andrew shuts his eyes and counts to ten, then to twenty, in German, before he says things he shouldn’t say. Before he  does things he shouldn’t do. And then he repeats, calmly, “Neil, what the fuck is wrong with you tonight?”

And Neil takes a deep breath, huffs, and finally gives in.

“It’s Roland. Roland is- Roland is irrelevant. He’s completely irrelevant to you. Why do you think he’s who you’re supposed to be with? You think he’s the right boyfriend for you? A horny barman who leaves toothpaste in the sink and doesn’t know how to -“ Neil hesitates, probably sorting what he wants to say. Or maybe he’s not sure whether he should say it or not. Andrew ignores the fact that, for a second, he had the impression that Neil was actually jealous of Roland. He sticks his chin out and waits for Neil to get his shit together and elaborate. Neil huffs again and - “I saw Roland with his tongue down another guy’s throat, okay? I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, but, for fuck’s sake, Drew you deserve so much more than him.”

  


\--

  


As soon as the words leave Neil’s mouth, he wishes he could take it all back, clasp his hand over his lips, seal them, whatever- he’s never going to drink again. Not if it makes him even more reckless than usual. His mouth is going to get him killed someday. 

And yet Andrew looks unperturbed. His face is blank even when he says the words that make Neil’s universe tilt a little sideways.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“He - he what?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend, you dumbass. He’s just a booty call.”

Neil might be inexperienced, but he’s familiar with the concept of “booty call” and he’s pretty sure that having someone sleep at yours every other day does not fall under its definition. 

“But you’re always calling him over, he’s basically been living with us this month.” 

Andrew is staring at him, eyes moving over his face, like he’s thinking, like he’s making some sort of calculation. When he finally opens his mouth he says, “Yes, so maybe I stop thinking about  _you_ and I don’t punch your teeth down your throat because you and your mouth are driving me crazy.”

Bang. Neil’s mind explodes. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol. But he’s pretty sure there must be some explosions involved because he feels like his heart is trying to leap out of his chest. And then he utters, “You- you like me?” like, you know, an idiot. In his defense, he’s had way too many life-changing revelations in the past two hours. And too many drinks, even though the past ten minutes have considerably sobered him down. 

Andrew sighs through his nostrils. Neil can see the indecision in Andrew’s dark eyes. He’s leaning in, getting closer to Neil, he wants to kiss him, but he’s also shaking, fisting his right hand, ready to pull a punch. Or maybe he just wants to walk away from Neil because he is a mess. .

Neil is not willing to risk his cheek getting fractured or being left alone and makes the decision for Andrew. He leans in, looks at Andrew’s lips to make his intentions clear and asks, “Yes?”. The word barely leaves his lips before Andrew presses his body against his and kisses him. Again and again and again.

  


—

The first thing Andrew sees when he wakes up is a bundle of ragged clothes and auburn curls that smell like alcohol and cigarettes.

Said bundle, also known as Neil, is draped over him. And Andrew’s arms reflexively tighten around the tiny waist, the muscled back he’d always wanted to trace with his fingers. In response, Neil buries his head in Andrew’s neck and makes a soft whimper, something between a moan and a grunt that makes Andrew want to pull Neil even closer and say “ ___mine_ __”.

It’s only when Neil accidentally slots one of his legs between Andrew’s thighs that he finally wakes up, for real this time. And immediately wishes he could go back to the blessed state between sleep and wakefulness in which his mind thought, just for a second, that Neil was actually his boyfriend. That Neil had kissed him because he likes him, not just because he was wasted. But no, no, no. He can’t touch Neil. Nothing happened. Neil is only sleeping in his bed because Andrew wanted to watch over him and make sure he wouldn’t drown in his own vomit.

Thankfully Neil is dressed because Andrew doesn’t know what he’d do if there weren’t at least two layers of clothes between Andrew’s groin and Neil’s leg. He takes a deep breath and tries to move Neil to the other side of the bed as carefully as possible, making sure Neil has plenty of room on the bed, but he’s not sleeping over him. 

Unfortunately, Neil is a light sleeper and he wakes up while still half-draped over Andrew. Great. Fucking great.

It takes Neil one, two, three seconds to realise where he is, who he is sleeping with and the clothes he’s still wearing. Andrew can literally see the moment Neil starts recollecting the events of the previous night because he grimaces. 

The first thing Neil says when he remembers how to articulate words with his mouth is, “Did I- did I really dance at Eden’s?” 

And then he lets out an obscene groan, again, because the world really hates Andrew Minyard and the gays.

Then Neil starts rambling, saying out loud the bits of memory that randomly resurface in his hungover brain and Andrew would probably be having fun if Neil’s face wasn’t one of pure horror while he repeats the things he’s done at Eden’s. 

“Oh my god I’m never drinking again,” Neil says, passing a hand through his dirty mop of hair, looking resigned, like he doesn’t want to think about last night anymore. 

“And then I flirted with all those people - I regret everything I did yesterday night.”

Oh. Yes, of course. What was Andrew even thinking? Andrew only nods, waiting for Neil to remember what he did after that. Not sure he wants Neil to remember. He’s definitely not looking forward to finding out what Neil thinks of his actions or to relieving the night from Neil’s point of view. 

But Neil goes on.

“And then I punched Roland?” Neil grimaces. “Oh fuck Andrew I’m sorry. I mean, Roland totally deserved that and I would happily do it again, but I shouldn’t have punched your boyfriend.” 

Neil doesn’t believe a single word he’s saying and Andrew knows him too well. He arches an eyebrow, questioningly. Neil sighs and rectifies what he said. “I shouldn’t have punched your boyfriend without at least telling you first, I guess?”

Andrew wants to get this over with. “I don’t care, he’s not my boyfriend.”

Neil’s eyes become as big as saucers and then, then Andrew knows that Neil is recollecting the bits Andrew is not ready to listen to. Not yet. He braces himself for what’s coming.

“And then I kissed you.”

“You did,” Andrew nods.

Neil looks down at his hands, twisting them. He swallows thickly, but then his lips curve into a small smug smile and in that moment Andrew knows, he fucking knows, that Neil will be the death of him. 

“I do not regret it. I wanted it. But I know you’re going to say that it doesn’t matter because I was drunk and I didn’t know what I was doing no matter how many times I tell you that no, I didn’t kiss you just because I was drunk. So can I ask for another kiss to make sure  you know it wasn’t the alcohol?”

And what else can Andrew do when Neil asks him so kindly? He pulls Neil up, hands under his armpits and hauls him close, closer. And he kisses him, hard, just in case Neil changes his mind and decides it was the alcohol after all and he wants nothing to do with Andrew. So Andrew kisses him hard to commit everything to memory, just this once glad that he has an eidetic memory and he’ll probably never forget the way Neil tastes or the soft curve of his lips against his own chapped ones. 

“Yep, definitely not the alcohol,” Neil says when he comes up for air, eyes crinkled in a way that Andrew shouldn’t find attractive, but does. 

“Maybe it’s still the alcohol, you’re hungover,” Andrew deadpans. 

Neil just chuckles. On any other day Andrew would probably tell Neil that he is stupid and obnoxious and the only person dumb enough to think that Andrew is funny. But Andrew is too busy taking Neil in, how they fit perfectly together, the way he folds into Andrew and the way he fucking smiles. 

“Maybe, maybe you’re right. You’ll have to kiss me again tomorrow to make sure I’m not making stupid decisions under the influence of alcohol,” Neil quips. 

Thankfully, Andrew has just learned a new technique to shut Neil up. 

  


-

  


The following week Andrew is relieved to find out that he hasn’t been banned from ever setting foot again at Eden’s. Regardless, Andrew promises the bouncers that he’ll keep an eye on Neil and he’ll make sure he never gets drunk when unsupervised. (Because he intends to keep both of his eyes well trained on Neil now that he’s finally allowed to, thank you very much.) 

Neil is not particularly bothered by the alcohol ban, he just asks Andrew if he needs help carrying all the drinks. Andrew understands why only when Neil makes out with him, filthily and inappropriately, right in front of Roland. 

“Jealous idiot,” Andrew mumbles against Neil’s lips, his hand sliding down his back and cupping his ass possessively. 

“Look who’s talking!” Neil replies with a mischievous smile. 

“I’m not jealous.” 

Neil hums, the obnoxious grin still on his lips. “Oh so you didn’t grab my butt right when you saw that Marissa was walking by, perchance?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Andrew grunts.

“Come on Andrew, Marissa. Marissa the girl I hung out with last week?”

“Shut up!” Andrew growls, but Neil laughs and Andrew squeezes his ass and kisses him again. Public decency be damned. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments and any sort of feedback is loved and appreciated <3


End file.
